Chapter 11 Failed Shift

Lily's POV

I spun around, heart pounding. Two men blocked the alley entrance—not wolves from the pack, but humans. The type that hung around the outskirts of werewolf territory, looking for trouble.

"Look at her, all covered in red," the second one said, licking his lips. "Like a present waiting to be unwrapped."

I backed away, my back hitting the brick wall. Normally, I'd have my wolf's strength to call on. Now I tried to summon her power, but she was too injured to respond, curled up and trembling within me.

"Please," I whispered. "I just want to go home."

They laughed, moving closer. The taller one reached for me, his fingers inches from my face.

The taller thug stopped, his meaty hand frozen in midair. He was a brute—all muscle with a face like crumpled paper, small eyes gleaming with something that made my skin crawl. His companion was his opposite—wiry and quick, face marked with scars that told stories I didn't want to hear.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Meaty-hands chuckled, dropping his arm but not backing away. "A little red wolf cub, all alone."

The scarred one circled to my right, cutting off any escape route. "Looks like she ran away from that Dark Moon party. Still stinks of that fancy booze they were throwing around."

I tried to stand taller, to project confidence I absolutely did not feel. "I'm just trying to get home. I don't want any trouble."

"That's the funny thing about trouble, sweetheart." Meaty-hands took another step toward me. "It doesn't much care what you want."

I glanced around desperately. We were too far from the main street. No one would hear me if I screamed—and even if they did, this was Alpha territory. Blake's territory. The same Blake who'd just humiliated me in front of everyone.

"Don't bother looking for help," Scarface said, pulling out a small knife that gleamed in the dim light. "No cops come to places like this. Especially not to an Alpha's bar."

"Be good now," Meaty-hands whispered, close enough that I could smell the cigarettes on his breath. "And maybe it won't be just the booze that's red on you tonight."

I was trapped. Cornered like prey. I closed my eyes, reaching deep inside myself for the one thing that could save me.

I need you. Please.

I called to my wolf—my beautiful white-furred companion who'd been with me since I was fifteen. The other half of my soul. My protector.

But instead of the warm rush of power that usually came with shifting, a stabbing pain shot through my chest. Cold sweat broke out across my forehead. I gasped, doubling over.

What's wrong?

I felt her presence, but it was weak, as if she were hiding behind a thick wall. I pushed harder, trying to break through, but the pain only intensified. My knees buckled.

Please. We need to run!

Another attempt. This time the pain was so intense I nearly vomited. My wolf whimpered—a sound so broken and wounded I barely recognized it as coming from my fierce companion.

That's when I understood. Blake's rejection hadn't just crushed my heart—it had wounded my wolf. She was injured, too weak to come forward. Too damaged to help me shift.

"What's wrong, honey?" Meaty-hands noticed my struggle. "Can't shift? Having a little performance issue?"

I opened my eyes, terror flooding through me. Without my wolf, I was just a human woman. Weak. Vulnerable.

"Look at her face," Scarface laughed. "Holy shit, she really can't shift!"

Old stories flooded my mind—tales told by elder wolves around council fires. Warnings about the devastating effects of being rejected by a mate. How it could weaken your wolf, sometimes permanently.

"I've never seen a grown wolf who can't shift," Scarface continued, twirling his knife. "What a fucking waste."

"Come on, pretty thing," Meaty-hands crooned, reaching for my wrist. "This is what the Moon Goddess arranged for us tonight. A special little gift."

I'm sorry, I thought to my wounded wolf as she curled tighter inside me. This is my fault. If I have stopped you from finding Blake...

Meaty-hands' fingers closed around my wrist like a vise. I tried to pull away, but he was too strong. Human strength was no match for his bulk.

"Don't fight," Scarface warned, brandishing the knife. "It'll just make things messier."

I kept calling to my wolf, desperate for any scrap of power. All I got back was a weak whimper, the sound of something broken. Without her, I was nothing in this world. Just another vulnerable human.

Meaty-hands shoved me against the wall, his body pressing against mine. I could feel his hot breath on my neck as his free hand started tugging at my dress.

"Now Silver Ridge is Blake's territory," he grunted. "And little wolves like you got no protection."

"We'll be gentle," Scarface added, "if you don't make this difficult."

"Please," I begged, hating the tremor in my voice. "I won't tell anyone. Just let me go home."

"Too late for that," Meaty-hands said, his hand moving to my throat.

I closed my eyes, unable to watch what was coming next. In that moment, I hated Blake more than I'd ever hated anyone. His rejection had done this—left me defenseless when I needed my wolf most.

Then it happened. A thunderous CRACK echoed through the alley, followed immediately by a second one. Both sounds were followed by agonized screams that bounced off the brick walls.

The pressure on my throat suddenly disappeared. I heard the heavy thud of bodies hitting the ground, one after another.

I kept my eyes shut tight, paralyzed with fear, certain this was just some new horror unfolding. My body slid down the wall until I was crouched on the dirty pavement, arms wrapped protectively around myself.

Only when the screams faded to groans and then silence did I dare to look.

Both men lay sprawled on the ground, unmoving. In the dim light, I could make out dark pools spreading beneath their heads.

I wasn't alone in the alley anymore.

A figure stood silhouetted against the distant streetlights at the alley entrance. Tall, broad-shouldered, radiating a power I could feel even from where I crouched. In one hand, he held what looked like a baseball bat.